


Astraphobia

by Starlight_fallen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Astraphobia, Author Projecting onto Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Sensory Deprivation, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:42:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26092807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlight_fallen/pseuds/Starlight_fallen
Summary: So where does my mind go to when it storms horribly? Well it goes to ‘What if Aziraphale is terrified of storms himself? What if he has PTSD from the Flood and the thunder and lightning terrify him too?’  So you get this!It's raining in London, which isn't new, however this storm is going to reveal more than was expected.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 127





	Astraphobia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Got a new one shot to get out the anxiety bouncing around on me with the upcoming storms. 
> 
> Warning for panic attack, fear of thunderstorms, sensory depravation, and self depreciation.

Before Eden, but after the War, Heaven created punishment. Before the War, punishment didn’t exist, because nobody needed to be punished. Afterwards, however, it was agreed upon by majority of the Host that to prevent other Angels from Falling, there needed to be punishments and discipline. 

So The Chasm came into existence. 

It was a space that wayward Angels were placed to allow them time to acknowledge and fix their errors. It was an empty space, nobody knew how big it was but not enough to stretch their wings out. It was also startlingly dark, so much so that you couldn’t even see any part of yourself right in front of your eyes. It swallowed sound before it could reach your ears from your lips. Physical feeling was removed as well, until corporations came about. Nobody told the Archangels that you could still feel your own body if you were corporate while in there. 

It terrified every single Angel in the Host. Once was one time too many for most, so they did absolutely everything to avoid ever even being threatened with The Chasm. 

Except for one Angel. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t try avoiding it, he really did. But he always seemed to fall short. Overindulgent, too many frivolous miracles, caring for humans way more than necessary, it was always something. Aziraphale had be placed in The Chasm a total of 4 times throughout 6000 years. Right after the apple business in Eden, he’d been placed there for what amounted to 2 weeks. It left him terrified of the dark when he left. 

The next time was about 40 years after the Flood, when the first of the children who Crawley rescued from the Flood passed away. Heaven had been expecting their souls as children and at the time, nobody had been looking for them since they had enough to deal with in the aftermath of the Flood. It was easy to overlook roughly 10 souls in the hundreds that flooded Heaven in the aftermath. But once the no longer children’s souls started arriving in Heaven, and Heaven found out what happened, Aziraphale was recalled to Heaven for answers. 

He was still struggling with the Hell on Earth that’d been the Flood, watching the greying, bloated corpses float past the ark, knowing that people who hadn’t been evil or bad, just misguided, had been killed. Even 40 years later, he still had waking nightmares over it. Booms of thunder mixed with people hitting the ark, begging to be let onboard. He’d never be able to hear thunder and not feel that panic that permeated the world again. He never liked storms after that. 

That time, they almost seem to forget he was even in there. He was left in The Chasm for 3 months. He left The Chasm this time hating silence, so much so that he thought he’d prefer the thunder to the silence. 

That lasted until the first thunderstorm upon his return to Earth less than a day later, where he experienced his very first panic attack. He wasn’t prepared for the sudden fear that emerged during that first storm after so long of pure silence from The Chasm. It was too much, the memories of the flood, the memories of The Chasm, everything. 

He made sure there was always some kind of soft noise, even if he had to make it himself. He refused to admit that he’d inadvertently started those annoying habits of tapping fingers, pencils, pens, or random objects on surfaces. The panic attacks came still with every thunderstorm, he couldn’t seem to block out the thunder, without removing all sound, and he wasn’t willing to do that either. 

The next time had been at Golgatha. Heaven found out that Crawley…Crowley, had been with Jesus while he was in the desert, despite Aziraphale being in charge of watching over him. But since everything had gone to plan, Aziraphale got off light in terms of length this time. They only left him there for 3 days. He’d always fidgeted before but now, in an effort to feel something while in The Chasm, he’d taken to wringing his hands. It was a habit that would never go away. 

The final time had been in 1941, right after Crowley bombed the church. Heaven didn’t take to kindly to a demon targeting a church specifically. Or the fact Aziraphale had protected his corporation and not the House of God from the bomb. It was ‘selfish’ and ‘disgraceful’ according to Gabriel that he’d rather protect his own body then protect sacred ground. At this point, Aziraphale was sure they just looked for a reason. 

They left him in there for another month. 

______________________________________

In 1967, when he heard about Crowley’s heist, Aziraphale felt he finally understood why Crowley wanted the Holy Water. He’d rather walk into Hellfire than ever go back in The Chasm. Those were blasphemous thoughts, however, and could never be uttered or thought outside of the safety of his bookshop. 

If Crowley was so desperate for a quick death, to avoid whatever torture Hell would put him through, well, Aziraphale couldn’t really argue anymore. Whatever Hell had, it had to be worse than The Chasm, and Aziraphale wouldn’t wish Lucifer himself to experience that place, despite everything. 

So he stole Holy Water from Heaven for Crowley, breaking his own heart in the process. 

_______________________________

After the Nope-mageddon, Aziraphale was thankful that it was a clear night in London. He wouldn’t have been able to handle storms after everything. Crowley never said anything when he turned every interior light on in Crowley’s flat, trusting the thick curtains to block any light from seeping out into the nighttime. 

Aziraphale didn’t tell Crowley about The Chasm, didn’t tell him his fears, his worries. No, they focused on Agnes’s prophecy, working it out, then working out how they’d exchange corporations. Aziraphale hoped that Agnes was right and they would use Hellfire on his corporation and not put Crowley in The Chasm. 

He’d never been more relieved when he walked into the park and saw his corporation sprawled across a park bench like the bench was supposed to yield to his body and not the other way around. 

________________________________

It’s been almost 5000 years since the Flood, there’s no reason for him to still be fretting every time it stormed. Part of the reason he chose London was that it didn’t rain as often as other parts of the country, but when it stormed, it could get nasty. Aziraphale struggled with rain, a little bit he could handle, if it went on for too long, his anxiety would jump. Add in the thunder and lightning, and he crumbled. Every flash of lightning brought the floating, bloated corpses to his mind’s eye, making him tremble. 

The rain had started as most storms in London typically do, not really any big deal. But then it didn’t stop. Aziraphale felt the fear creeping up his spine, the rising panic mimicking the rising waters in the streets. He knew that the storming would only get worse, the thunder would start soon, and Aziraphale didn’t want to wait for it to start. While he hated silence, he hated the booms of thunder even more, remembering the rumbling and anger that permeated the air during the Flood. He could never hear it again without feeling the Wrath that the Almighty had unleashed upon Mesopotamia. 

Flipping the sign around, placing another note beside it, Aziraphale locked up the shop, drawing all of the shades, making sure that the wards that he and Crowley had put up after the Nonapacolypse were still intact. He trusted his shop, it’d been his home for over 2 centuries. He went around turning off the lamps throughout his shop, cloaking the entire shop in darkness, except for one small lamp illuminating the small corner of his shop where his gramophone sat, the final strains of Vivaldi’s Cantabile petering out. The encroaching darkness made his breath hitch. Finally, he stopped the old gramophone and carefully placed the record back in it’s sleeve, turning off the final light source and plunging the shop into complete darkness. Aziraphale swallowed the shuddering breath trying to break free. 

He couldn’t stop the terrified squeak that escaped him when a clash of thunder and lightning hit outside, momentarily illuminating the interior of the shop. Aziraphale didn’t dally anymore, quickly walking across the darkened shop to the door hiding the staircase to his flat above the shop. Flicking the switch to light up the stairs, he breathed a sigh of relief when he could see again properly. 

The next boom of thunder had him all but running up the stairs. 

_______________________________

He never let anyone ever see the secret stash of cozy jumpers he had. It was his secret pleasure, one that Crowley would probably tease him mercilessly since he was always so buttoned up. 

Snapping, Aziraphale turned on the two bedside lamps, bathing his bedroom in a soft golden glow, making his breath ease slightly as the darkness was pushed back finally. Stripping from his waistcoat, bow tie, shirt, and trousers, he pulled the very oversized jumper on, feeling cozy in the cocoon of the jumper. He already felt lighter having the cozy beige jumper settled on his frame. That is, until another crash of thunder sounded outside, making Aziraphale scramble for the safety of his bed. He curled up on the bed, feeling some of the anxiety ease as he made himself smaller, reveling in the feeling of the jumper on his skin, the thick blanket adding weight on top of him. He never figured out a way to block the sounds without depriving himself of sound altogether and that was somehow worse. 

He laid there, reciting Shakespeare’s Sonnets to himself to keep the silence from the room, eyes screwed shut, wishing it would all end soon. 

He eventually fell asleep. 

_____________________________

Crowley was certain that the rain wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, meaning London was going to flood again, possibly even rival the Great Flood of 1928. Crowley was in the States at the time but remembered Aziraphale telling him how much trouble it was to keep all his books safe. 

Crowley tried calling the shop several times, but when he didn’t get an answer, he started to panic. His mind conjured flames, eating away the books that his angel loved, the flames devouring the angel he loved. He grabbed his keys and ran to the Bentley. 

The roads were already retaining ankle deep water, it had nowhere to drain off to. He urged the Bentley through the water, towards the bookshop. When he turned the corner and saw that the bookshop wasn’t engulfed in flames, he breathed a sigh of relief. 

Double parking the Bentley, he rushed out and rushed to the bookshop. It was locked, silent, and dark. It didn’t bode well to Crowley. He turned the handle to open the door and was relieved when it turned and allowed him entry to the shop. The inside was just as dark as it appeared from the outside, with no soul in sight. Crowley wasn’t sure if it was time to be relieved yet. He didn’t know where Aziraphale was at yet, if he was hurt or worse. 

Pulling off his glasses, he crept silently into the shop, letting his senses spread, trying to sense if Aziraphale was around. Thankfully he sensed the angel somewhere in the shop and nobody else was there. He snapped, turning all the lights on, placing his glasses on the little table next to where he stood. Aziraphale was nowhere to be found in the shop. The shop was deathly silent, except for the pounding rain and the cannon sounds of thunder, rumbling through the shop. 

Crowley was checking the backroom where so many of their conversations and drinking had occurred over the last 2 centuries when he heard it. Directly above his head, a thump sounded, like something had fallen or been hit. He almost missed it since it sounded at the same time a clap of thunder echoed through the shop. But after the thunder faded, he heard was sounded like crying. 

Snapping upright, he rushed towards the staircase that led to Aziraphale’s flat. As far as Crowley knew, Aziraphale didn’t sleep so he had no use for the flat above his bookshop. As far as Crowley knew. 

Rushing up the stairs, he noticed the whole flat had every light on in. He followed the muffled crying, prepared to attack anyone who was harming his angel. He threw open the door that the crying sound was coming from just as a particularly hard crash of thunder rocked the whole building. 

_______________________

Aziraphale wasn’t aware of the scream leaving his mouth in the panic. He gripped his head, covering his ears in a futile attempt to block out the sounds of the storm. His curtains did a great job of blocking the lightning, that was always easy to avoid seeing. It was so much harder coping with the thunder. 

Every single rumble made Aziraphale feel panic and unstoppable fear bubble up through his body. He tried hard to push it down but the louder the thunder, the harder it was to control. 

He felt hands on his shoulders, making him tense for a half second, before ripping himself away, screaming again in pure panic. He curled in on himself, desperate to stop the rising flood of fear. He could almost physically choke on the sensation.

“Angel! Angel! Aziraphale! It’s me, it’s Crowley! It’s okay!” A voice was screaming beside him. 

The hands returned, but much lighter than before, but just as the grip of panic started to loosen, a ferocious clap of thunder sounded, sending Aziraphale back into a spiral of panic. He felt all of the oxygen in his lungs rush out and he couldn’t get his corporation to remember he didn’t actually need to breath. He felt light headed and next thing he knew, he was leaning over the side of his bed emptying his stomach of what little he ate for breakfast. 

The hands were rubbing soothing circles on his back and the voice was speaking to him softly. He couldn’t make out the words but a minuscule sense of safety crept into his fear addled brain. 

Finally, he stopped dry heaving, and the sobbing started to taper off. Aziraphale felt bone tired exhausted when his brain released him from the haze of fear that his panic attack sent him into. 

“There you go, angel. It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m here, it’ll be okay, promise.” 

Aziraphale blinked his eyes to clear out the lingering blurriness, only for the fuzzy copper and black image to coalesce into Crowley. He was sitting on the bed next to Aziraphale, leaning over the angel. 

“Cr-crow-ley” Aziraphale coughed, mind not quite catching up to why the demon was there. 

“Shhh, shh, hold on, let me get you some water.” Crowley said, snapping his fingers and a glass of water appearing. He helped Aziraphale sit up and drink at it slowly, easing the burn in his throat from the screaming and acid. 

“How…” Aziraphale attempted to ask but his throat still hurt. He drank some more water. “What are you doing here, my dear?” He drained the rest of the glass. 

Crowley snapped and refilled the glass before he answered. “I tried calling, they’re talking about evacuating everyone, and you weren’t answering.” He urged Aziraphale to drink some more water. 

After Aziraphale drained the second glass, he looked at Crowley, the words registering to him. Evacuations? This was 1928 all over again! Aziraphale could feel the panic starting to sink into him again. Crowley noticed it too, laying his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, bringing the angel back from wherever he went in his mind. In the back of his mind, Crowley finally realized Aziraphale wasn’t wearing his bow tie or waistcoat, but rather an oversized, fuzzy feeling beige jumper.

“Aziraphale, what’s going on?” Crowley asked, urging Aziraphale to look him in the eye. 

It took another few moments of silence, Aziraphale slowly tensing again as the current situation, Crowley finding him panicking over a simple storm, registered in his mind. 

“I’m terribly sorry, dear. I didn’t know you called, I’m sorry that you had to leave your flat during this abysmal weather to come check on silly old me.” Aziraphale rushed out, the age old weight of his constant failures dragging his shoulders into a slump. 

“No, no, no, none of that! You aren’t going to start parroting that bullshit again. Tell me what sent you into such a panic that you’re up here hiding. Is it Heaven? Did they threaten you?” Crowley growled, fighting back the urge to stand up and pace. 

“Please, Aziraphale. We’re on our own side, remember? You can tell me, I’ll protect you.” He looked at Aziraphale, eyes open and pleading. Aziraphale knew he couldn’t deny this to Crowley anymore. 

Aziraphale shook his head slightly, “No, it wasn’t Heaven. Well, not directly this time.” Crowley raised and eyebrow in question, but before he could ask Aziraphale to clarify that statement, thunder rippled through the room again, causing Aziraphale to jump and let out a small terror filled scream. 

Crowley jumped up and pulled Aziraphale into his arms, whispering comfort into his curls. Aziraphale gripped onto Crowley’s lanky body with a vice grip, fear increasing his strength. After a few moments, the tension left Aziraphale’s body, letting Crowley pull back to look at Aziraphale. 

“You’re afraid of storms.” Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale whimpered, ducking his head, trying to hide the shame written all over his face. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Crowley said, trying to get Aziraphale to look at him again. Finally, Aziraphale nodded, confirming to Crowley his astraphobia. 

Crowley, thinking he could help, snapped a pair of soundproof earmuffs and placed them on Aziraphale’s head. He started to smile in triumph when it seemed like the angel would be okay from the thunder, until Aziraphale screamed again, ripping the earmuffs from his head and throwing them away from him, just as another clap of thunder sounded. He was starting to hyperventilate again. 

Crowley, unsure of what just happened, started trying to calm Aziraphale down, walking him through breathing exercises to get his breathing under control. After several tense minutes, Aziraphale shuddered, releasing a breath, his body going limp as the tension released. 

Crowley gathered him in his arms, pulling him close to him, murmuring the whole time comforting words that Aziraphale didn’t really hear or understand. He was so exhausted and Crowley was warm and safe. He drifted off to sleep in Crowley’s arms. 

________________________________________

Crowley wasn’t sure what happened, but when he realized Aziraphale fell asleep, he shift them up on the bed, leaning against the wall and letting Aziraphale rest on his chest. Snapping his free hand that wasn’t wrapped around the angel, he changed his clothes to loose pajamas.

He could never recall a moment where Aziraphale was terrified like this. Had he always been scared of storms? Had he left Aziraphale to deal with these storms for 6 millennia alone? In paralyzing fear? He felt sick at himself. 

Several hours later, Aziraphale started to stir. The rain was still coming down in sheets outside but it’d been some time since any thunder had sounded. He blearily blinked his eyes, letting the blurriness ease away. It took another several seconds before he realized he wasn’t laying in his bed, rather he was laying on someone. 

“Good morning to you, angel.” Crowley said, smirk evident in his voice. 

Aziraphale shot up, scrambling out of Crowley’s loosened embrace. He started to stammer apologies to Crowley, hoping that the demon wouldn’t be too upset with him for being pathetic. 

Crowley scowled when Aziraphale voiced that particular thought. 

“Stop parroting Heaven, you’re not pathetic!” Crowley snapped, immediately wincing when he saw Aziraphale flinch. 

“Sorry, angel, it just pisses me off when you talk down about yourself, repeating the bullshit Heaven spouted.” Crowley said, holding his hand out for Aziraphale. Aziraphale didn’t hesitate in taking his hand and giving it a squeeze in forgiveness and apology. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Crowley asked, returning the squeezes, reminding Aziraphale he wasn’t angry with him. 

It was quiet a few minutes, Aziraphale started shifting around, not exactly looking at Crowley. Crowley squeezed his hand again, offering silent encouragement. 

Once Aziraphale started talking, he couldn’t stop. He told Crowley about The Chasm, about the punishments, about the nightmares he had after the Flood, the fear of thunder and lightning that developed. Crowley interrupted several times in pure outrage, ranting at Heaven and how they were horrible. Aziraphale let him because it gave him a chance to pull the anxiety into control. Aziraphale told him about silence being his own personal hell right next to thunderstorms being another personal hell. 

“That’s why you panicked when I put the earmuffs on you. I’m so sorry, angel! I didn’t know!” Crowley cried, eyes wide in apology. 

“I know, my dear. It wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known when I never told you.” Aziraphale told him, reaching back out for his hands and gripping them in comfort. 

Crowley thought back to millennia of Aziraphale always making some small kind of sound so that they were never in complete silence, be it tapping his foot, drumming his fingers on his desk, putting a bookshop in Soho, where even in the dead of night, it was still active and noise was there. Crowley felt like an idiot. 

“You may not have verbally told me but you’ve said it a million other ways, I just never realized. Same with the storms, I never realized how terrified they made you.” Crowley whispered, shame coloring his face. 

Aziraphale tugged his hands to his chest, cradling them in his, “No, Crowley. I didn’t tell you because it’s my own issue, something you didn’t need to be burdened with.” 

Crowley sat in quiet contemplation for a few minutes, Aziraphale started fidgeting, rubbing his jumper sleeves against each other to make a soft rustling noise. Crowley saw it, saw it for what it was. 

“You’ll never have to go through it alone again, I promise. Our side, remember?” Crowley said, smiling softly at Aziraphale. 

___________________________

Several months later found the duo standing in a large room surrounded by a mountain of boxes. Crowley was huffing about doing things ‘the human way’ when a snap of the fingers would have the thousands of books unpacked without a second thought. But Aziraphale insisted, especially since he felt miracles could possibly further ruin some of his books. 

London had flooded again, just like Crowley thought it would. They’d managed to get all of Aziraphale’s books to higher shelves and into the flat above the shop with only a few dozen getting wet before they got them moved. Aziraphale had been upset but Crowley reminded him that the can be salvaged. 

It took almost a week for the waters to recede enough for them to safely go back into the shop. Aziraphale had been devastated, remembering how much damage had been done in 1928 when the shop flooded then. It looked like similar damages had occurred this time again, meaning extensive work to repair it. 

Crowley once again offered to let Aziraphale stay with him while the shop was being repaired. After some well placed temptations, Aziraphale accepted. 

A few weeks later, when they were walking in St. James Park, they overheard a couple talking about getting out of London, and it sparked an idea in Crowley. Several days later, after a lot of research, he suggested moving to Suffolk, throwing out causally that it rarely stormed in that part of the country. 

It took very little convincing to get Aziraphale to agree to relocating. They, of course, kept the shop but Aziraphale liked the idea of actually retiring for a few decades. 

It was time to really enjoy time with his husband, Crowley deserved nothing less. 

__________________________

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m right in the path of Hurricane Laura and my anxiety is all over the place, so y’all get this ridiculous projection and story. I know it doesn’t seem like The Chasm and Aziraphale’s astraphobia have anything to do with each other but think of it this was, 40 years of suppressing trauma from the flood, being thrown in essentially a sensory depravation space, and then coming back to a huge thunderstorm, it compounded the trauma Aziraphale went through during the Flood, making him fear thunder and rain. 
> 
> I will have the final chapter for Guardian out soon, I just didn’t want my anxiety to bleed all over that last chapter. 
> 
> Comments and kudos sustain my soul! I appreciate every single one of you greatly!!


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